The Stench of Humanity
by Dottie Snark
Summary: After defeating Wolfram & Hart Angel and the others went their separate ways. But when Spike begins causing trouble in L.A Angel is forced to confront his former ally-and discovers an unexpected change in Spike instead. Takes place after the Angel Finale. AU from the season 8-12 comics. One shot.


**A/N: This fic was written for the r/fanfiction August Prompt challenge on Reddit. The prompt I chose was scent. **

* * *

_Witnesses described the assailant as an average height, slim built man with bleach blond hair and an English accent._

Angel put the police report down on his desk and leaned back in his chair. It was the fifth time that description had come up in the police blotter and since Billy Idol wasn't doing a US tour there was only one possibility: Spike. The fuzzy CCTV surveillance footage from the scene of the crime confirmed it.

The crimes weren't severe—drunk and disorderly conduct, vandalism, simple assault—but they were still worrisome. Soul or no soul, without Buffy or Angel around to guide him Spike had gone back to his old ways. Someone had to put a stop to this, and there was only one option. He dialed his phone.

"Have you faced dark and scary creatures that go bump in the night?" the voice on the other line said. It was a male's voice and had a slight lisp. "Do you fear that your life is in danger? Do you need protection? Here at the New Watcher's Council, we have sworn to protect the innocent. We swear to fight off evil. We swear—"

"Andrew, what are you doing?" another voice said. It sounded like Dawn.

"Um, leave a message after the beep."

_Beep!_

Angel hung up the phone. It was probably best that he got the messaging system anyway. He shouldn't be passing something this small along to the Slayer Army. He could handle Spike. Angel grabbed his coat and headed to the location of the most recent bar fight. He needed to find Spike's trail before it went cold.

The trail led him to a seedy motel right outside of Skid Row—the kind where you have to pay by the hour. Angel rang the bell at the front desk and waited a good five minutes before any clerk showed up.

"Twenty-five for an hour or fifty for three," the clerk said.

Angel's nose scrunched up, "Looking for a guy. Five-nine. Slim—"

The clerk held up his hand. "Our clients expect a certain amount of privacy. Think of it as motel-patron confidentiality. You want more info then come back with a warrant."

Angel was about to reach over the counter to grab this moron's shirt by the collar when he caught onto a familiar scent: cigarettes, hops and distilled liquor. That could be anyone's scent in a place like this but the body order that mixed with it, which was really quite pungent today, could be mistaken for no other. He'd caught onto Spike's scent.

Angel pushed away from the counter and followed the scent down the corridor. As the trail grew strong other scents entered the mix, namely rotted meat and blood—the human kind. Oh Spike, what have you done? Had Spike fallen off the animal blood wagon and given back into his darkest temptations? Or was there no longer a soul to keep those instincts in check? Either way, this wasn't good. Spike had to be stopped.

Once Angel reached Spike's door he body-checked it open, not giving Spike the chance to escape through the back window. The room was eerily still. If Spike's scent wasn't so strong Angel would have mistaken the room for vacant. Or Spike for dead—well dust at least. But Spike was definitely in here, underneath a pile of blankets on the bed based on where his scent concentrated.

Angel checked the perimeter of the room, making sure the bathroom, closet, and drawers were clean of any dead bodies. He hadn't expected to find any in those places. The scent of rotted meat and irony blood all came from the direction of the bed. If there was a dead body, one in addition to Angel and Spike that is, it was in bed with Spike.

As Angel stepped toward the bed he knocked over a bottle, the last remaining full bottle of liquor. It poured out and seeped into the carpet, overpowering the room with a sterile smell. Angel leaned down and picked up the bottle before it emptied completely, then took a big swig. He needed something to calm his nerves before he saw the big reveal. Angel took a second gulp then dropped the bottle to the ground. Now or never. He pulled back Spike's blankets.

A passed out Spike was sleeping soundly on the bed, soft snores escaping from his lips. He didn't even stir.

Angel took a step back. What? How could this be? Were Angel's senses lying to him? He smelled human and a rotting body but there was nothing here but Spike.

There were a few cuts and scrapes across Spike's back, but nothing to be concerned about. Super healing came with the vampire package. Angel rolled Spike over to double-check that there wasn't anything else hidden in the bed, such as a severed hand. As soon as Spike was turned the putrid smell of rotted meat permeated through the air. Angel threw up in his mouth. There was no dead body. The smell was coming off of Spike. There were oozing wounds on his chest and stomach, covered in green and yellow pus.

How was this even possible? Vampires didn't get infections. Was this some sort of curse?

No, it was worse than that. The distinct scent of the human blood became clearer. He knew who it belonged to. It was Spike's. Spike was human.

* * *

The time for figuring out how or why was later. Angel pulled Spike into his arms and dashed out the door. He broke a dozen traffic laws driving to the hospital but they arrived in the ER in about ten minutes. If Angel's heart could beat it would have been thumping, especially once he watched the nurses roll Spike away on a stretcher.

Angel sat down on a chair in the waiting room, wishing that calm breathing techniques worked on him. They don't.

Once Spike was attended to by a doctor Angel could focus on what just happened. Spike was human. There was only one way this could have happened: the Shanshu Prophecy. According to this ancient prophecy, a vampire with a soul will play a pivotal role in the apocalypse and will be restored to human. Clearly, the prophecy had been fulfilled. But how? When? Was there an Apocalypse no one told Angel about?

"Excuse me," a man in scrubs said. He held a chart and glared down at Angel, who was just sitting in the waiting room, twiddling his thumbs.

"Can I help you?" he asked.

"What's your relationship to the man you just brought in?"

"Oh…um…we're friends," he said. Angel's upper lip twitched when he said the word friends but he didn't need to explain his sorted history with Spike right now.

The man held the chart up against his forearm and filled it out. "Name?"

"My name?"

The nurse sighed. "His name."

"Oh…" What _was_ Spike's real name again? It was William…something? Spike had said it once or twice before but Angelus never cared enough to commit it to memory. Not that it mattered. Spike probably wasn't using his old identity anyway. "It's Spike," Angel said. "But I think that's just a nickname. Look I just know him kind of casually. More of an acquaintance, I guess. I don't think I can help with that form."

The man lowered the clipboard again and glared. "How'd he get those injuries?"

Angel shrugged. "Found him like that."

"Found him where?"

Thank God vampires couldn't sweat because this was starting to feel like an interrogation. "Are you implying I did this?" Angel snapped.

"Well did you?"

Un-freaking-believable. Whenever Spiked showed up bad news for Angel was always sure to follow. "No," Angel said through gritted teeth. "Can I go now? I have some phone calls to make?"

Angel didn't wait for an answer. He left the waiting room and put a quarter in the first payphone he saw.

"Have you faced dark and scary creatures that go bump in the night?" Andrew's message played again. Angel hung up and got his quarter back. Typical. The Slayer Army was way too busy for small stuff like Angel and Spike nowadays anyway. Hell, apparently there had been an Apocalypse no one seemed to inform him about. He would just have to take care of the Spike situation all on his own.

It was a few more hours before Angel heard anything else about Spike's condition. As each second ticked by, Angel grew more anxious. Could Spike actually die? And would that actually upset Angel?

The waiting room surely didn't help his anxiety. People sat while crying and getting agitated. The scent of blood, infection, and antiseptic permeated the air. It all reminded him just how fragile human life was. After all, apart from the checkup after Connor's birth, he had never been in a hospital for a good reason.

One of the doctors who had rolled Spike back into the OR came through the back doors. Angel practically sprinted across the room. "Is he okay?" he asked.

The doctor gave him a placating smile that gave nothing away. "He's stable," she finally said.

Out of habit, Angel let out a breathless sigh.

"Are you Angel?"

Angel's ears perked up. How did she know his name? He nodded but was ready to run out the door at a moment's notice if need be. The way the admissions nurse had treated him, practically accusing Angel of doing this to Spike, made him cautious.

"When your friend was conscious he named you as next of kin," the doctor explained. "Is that alright with you?"

"Sure he wasn't delirious?" Angel asked. Even when they were terrorizing the world with Darla and Drusilla, Angelus and Spike could never be described as friends. But when Angel really thought about it Angel was kind of the closest thing Spike had to a family. He _was_ Spike's kin. "Yeah," Angel said.

The doctor walked Angel over to some seats that were isolated away from everyone else in the waiting room. "Spike has a lot of injuries, many of them old and untreated. In addition to the lacerations across his body, most of which are infected, he also has broken and improperly healed bones, internal injuries, and symptoms of a concussion.

"We're treating the infection with antibiotics. Typically, patients with injuries this severe are given morphine to help with the pain, but Spike had symptoms of alcohol poisoning as well, which I suspect he was self-medicating with. Pain meds will have to wait until the alcohol has cleared from his system. Until then I have him on an IV to help with the dehydration and low blood sugar."

"But he's going to be okay, right?" Angel asked.

"He's stable," the doctor said. "Right now, my biggest concern is the infections. I'm sorry I can't give you a more definite answer than that."

The doctor gave Angel a moment to collect himself before she continued.

"Do you have any idea why he would have such extensive injuries over such a long period of time?"

Angel shook his head.

"I haven't seen Spike in a year," he admitted. "I only went out looking for him because…well, I had a hunch he was getting himself into trouble. I'm a PI. I never thought…I'll find out how this happened, I promise."

"I have to let you know I've submitted a report to Adult Protective Services."

"Are you accusing—"

"It's protocol," she cut him off. "But no, I don't suspect you. Usually, in a case like this, it's the partner. Do you know if he's dating anyone?"

Angel didn't, but he suspected Spike's injuries had supernatural causes, not domestic.

"Well see if you can find out. I'll have an orderly come by to take you to his room." The doctor left, leaving Angel along once again to contemplate how the Hell this had all happened. How had the Shanshu prophecy been fulfilled, and what kind of trouble had Spike gotten himself into since then?

* * *

An orderly stopped by and brought Angel up to a room on the fifth floor. Luckily Spike had the bed by the door, so there would be no risk of death by sunlight for Angel once the sun rose. That second bed was also unoccupied, which meant Spike and Angel had privacy. Too bad Spike was unconscious. Once the orderly left, Angel pulled a chair up to the side of Spike's bed and examine the doctor's work.

An IV was attached to Spike's left arm and his right arm was plastered in a cast from his forearm up to his bicep. Between both of his hands there were three splints on his fingers. A blanket was pulled up to Spike's chest, so nothing else could be seen. He couldn't see if Spike's chest and stomach wounds were healing, but at least their stench had waned.

Dressed in a hospital gown rather than a heavy trench coat Spike looked so much smaller. Fragile. Vulnerable. Angel couldn't help himself from grabbing Spike's hand and giving it a good squeeze.

Damn, he was a sap. Thank God there were no witnesses.

Hours past. The sun rose, leaving Angel stuck inside the hospital until it set again. Eventually, another patient moved into the other bed in the room. It was sometime around noon when Spike showed the first signs of consciousness. Angel called a nurse in, who then called a doctor, and Angel stepped out while they attended to Spike. He debated trying to get ahold of Buffy again but now that he had time to think things through he had no idea what to say. "Hey Buffy, Spike's hurt and oh, thanks for not telling me he got Shanshu," just didn't have the right ring to it. Besides, he didn't think he could stomach listening to Andrew's answering machine one more time.

The doctor came out of the room. "He's awake."

Angel went back in. Spike was sitting up on the bed, the back of it propped into the upright position, and staring at the cast on his arm. He blinked and looked over at Angel, his eyes glazed.

"I'm in a hospital?" Spike said. It was said like a question.

Angel nodded.

"You brought me in?"

Another nod.

"Well what the bloody Hell is wrong with you, you git?! Hello, vampire over here!"

The patient on the other bed looked over at them, his eyebrows knitted.

Angel stood up and pretended to laugh. "Morphine is a Hell of a drug, ain't it?" He closed the privacy curtain and sat down next to Spike. He leaned in and whispered, "Are you trying to get yourself transferred to the psych ward?"

Spike leaned forward but then groaned and fell back against his bed.

"Yeah, I wouldn't move too much if I were you," Angel said. "Stomach injuries take a while to heal…when you're human."

Spike drew a sharp breath, something only a human could do. "I—I have no idea what you're talking about," Spike lied.

"Don't try to bullshit me," Angel said. "I can smell the human all over you."

Spike opened his mouth but then closed it. Was he actually speechless? That was a first. And all it took was for a literal miracle to occur first. Spike really couldn't argue, though. Maybe if Angel didn't have super-smell he could have chalked Spike's injuries up to a powerful spell or curse, but the senses didn't lie. There was no denying the human in Spike.

"Look, I know the whole Shanshu thing has been a contentious issue but…" Angel's voice trailed off. But what? If Spike had told Angel that the prophecy had been fulfilled then Angel would have been consumed by jealousy.

"Don't know how to follow that up, huh?" Spike said. "Will you just bugger off? I'm too tired. And in too much pain. Aren't they supposed to give you pain meds in these kinds of places?"

"Not when you drink the entire mini bar first." Angel stood up. This probably wasn't the best venue to hash out his hurt feelings about the Shanshu Prophecy anyway. It could wait until after Spike was out of the woods. He had enough info to call Buffy now. He might as well give Spike's friends a heads up too. "Anyone you want me to call?"

"God no." Spike turned on his side away from Angel, groaning as he did so.

"Well, I'll just call Buffy and let her know what's going on. She'd want to know."

"Don't you d—uck!" Spike screamed. The sudden movement Spike made when he started yelling at Angel must have pulled something. With ragged breath, Spike grabbed his side. His face was pinched up and red and there was even a tear dripping down his cheek. Angel pretended not to notice the latter.

"Don't duck?" Angel asked.

Spike's breathing slowed down, and finally he said, "Dare. Don't you dare…call Buffy."

Since when didn't Spike want to see Buffy. If she knew how badly he was hurt she'd be on the first plane out of Europe and at Spike's side by tomorrow morning. She always had a soft spot for Spike, even when he was still evil. "She doesn't know, does she?" Angel asked. "That you're human?"

"And she's not finding out from you," Spike said.

This whole situation became so much clearer. People weren't keeping Angel in the dark. Spike was keeping _everyone else_ in the dark. "I guess I shouldn't be offended that you were lying to me. It wasn't personal."

Spike stayed silent.

"I imagine if you were telling people you would have started by gloating to me. You know how much I wanted the Shanshu Prophecy."

"There's nothing to gloat about," Spike said. His was melancholy.

The last time Spike looked so defeated was after their run-in with the mentally ill slayer, Dana. She had been tortured as a child and mistook Spike for her abuser, so she tortured him back and sawed off his hands. Wolfram & Hart were able to reattach them but Spike struggled to get over the horror of what happened. He hadn't killed her family, but he still thought he deserved the torture for all those others he'd hurt. He had told Angel this outright.

But this was different. The Shanshu was supposed to be a reward, why was Spike treating it like another punishment.

"What are you even still doing here?" Spike asked. "Bugger off."

"You told them I was your next of kin," Angel said.

"I was _high_. Bugger off!"

So that's really all it was? Spike didn't reach out for Angel in his moment of need, he didn't see Angel as family, he just said the name of the last person he saw.

"Fine, I'll leave," Angel said, trying to hide the hurt look on his face. "I don't want to be here anyway. Just tell me who to call so I can get out of here."

"I don't need a babysitter."

"Spike, you almost died! And while I could give a crap either way, if I leave you alone _Buffy_ will kill _me_. So who do I call?"

Spike's slumped. "There's no one to call."

"Stop lying. Who have you been working with for the past year? Sleeping with? Annoying? Who have you clung onto like a bad rash? They deserve to know you're alive."

"There's no one, you wanker!" Spike yelled. Then he turned away from Angel and looked down at his hands. His voice got very low. "I've been trying to keep my distance."

"By staying in my city?" Angel asked. He didn't buy it.

"I wasn't in L.A. the whole time. I've been…around."

"Doing what."

"I don't answer to you," Spike snapped. "I'm not on your payroll anymore."

"And it's a good thing you aren't because I would have fired someone as reckless as you a long time ago. You're human. You can't go picking fights with—with—with whatever the Hell you've been picking fights with. I know those wounds aren't just from bar fights. You've been picking fights with demons."

"I've been _hunting_ demons," Spike corrected.

"You can't do the same stuff you used to do."

"You don't think I know that?" Spike screamed. His face turned red and the veins in his neck showed. "You don't think I know how useless I am? Why do you think I've been staying away? From you. From Buffy and the others. I can't be around them anymore. I was always the muscle. Now, what am I? Deadweight, that's it." He closed his eyes and breathed heavily. "Just go. I don't want to be seen like this."

What was Spike saying? That he hated being human? That the one thing they both wanted so badly wasn't worth it? "I thought you wanted this," Angel said softly.

"I did," Spike said. "Or I thought I did. Maybe I just wanted it because I didn't want you to have it. Well jokes on me. It sucks. Wish I could just give it to you. I'm fine with you being the useless one."

"You're not useless."

"Right, because 'every human is special in their own way'. Give me a break."

"No. You're smart. You weren't just the muscle. You have a knack for figuring stuff out when no one else can."

"You're thinking of Wesley, mate."

Angel shook his head. "No. Wesley had his books and if I needed to figure out some obscure fact about some demon I'd go to him. But you always look at things from a different angle. A different perspective. That's valuable on an investigation team. You were never just the muscle, Spike. Hell, with Illyria around we never really had much need for more muscle."

"Oh right. I had forgotten how you let me be her punching bag."

Angel smirked. "You reached her. Helped humanize her, despite not being human yourself. Sure she had that weird thing with Wesley too, but you kept Illyria contained. You have a…way with people."

Spike looked down at his hands again, trying but failing to hide a smirk. "Stop with the pep talk. You'll make me blush."

"Which you can actually do now."

Spike frowned again. Oops. Angel shouldn't have added that. It was just another reminder of what Spike had become. "I had forgotten how much it hurt being human. You know all those people we killed, getting your soul back isn't enough to realize what you've done. We couldn't remember what pain really feels like…now I know."

The Shanshu was always supposed to be a reward, or at least that's what Angel had assumed it was. But if Spike was suffering so much, if he suffering was greater than just being a vamp with a soul, was it really a reward. Was the Shanshu a punishment? And was it Angel's fault Spike had received it?

"Don't ask me to turn you back," Angel warned.

There was another long pause. "You know I want to," Spike admitted. "I probably would have called you up months ago and asked if I had half a hope you might actually do it. But I'm not a git. I know you'd never turn me—and not just because you like seeing me suffer."

"I'm not Angelus," Angel said. "I don't like seeing anyone suffer, even you."

"I know I can't turn back. I worked so hard for this soul—can't risk losing it. Too many things could go wrong if we tried…knowing our luck they _would_ go wrong."

"Glad we're on the same page.

"It's just…" Spike's voice trailed off.

"It hurts," Angel finished Spike's sentence.

"Everything feels off. Duller. Sounds are softer. Scents of practically non-existent. Can't follow a trail anymore." Spike smiled for a split-second. "The only good thing is food tastes better. Oh, Angel, you have no idea how good onion blossoms really taste."

Angel smirked. He did, actually. He had spent a day as human about six years ago. The one thing he still remembered was the taste of the cookie-dough-fudge-mint-chip ice cream. "See, there are some good things about being human."

"I still don't understand how it happened," Spike said. "And how it wasn't you."

"You mean there wasn't some Apocalypse everyone forgot to tell me about where you saved the day?" Angel asked.

"Are you kidding?" Spike said. "This happened the night after that last battle with Wolfram & Hart,"

"So that's when it happened?" Angel asked. "It's been a whole year."

Spike nodded.

Dammit. Angel had been so close. If he hadn't signed away his rights to the prophecy when he joined the Circle of the Black Thorn then it could have been him. But Angel gave that up willingly, knowing infiltrating and defeating the Circle was more important than the reward.

"That battle against Wolfram & Hart wasn't much of an Apocalypse if you ask me," Spike said. "Once the slayers showed up as our backup the battle was over."

"Yeah, and Xander stole my chance at fighting a dragon," Angel said bitterly. Then it dawned on him: Spike hadn't done anything spectacular to save the world on that day. But he did something long ago that influenced that battle. "Spike," Angel said. "The Slayers were only there because you helped unleash them. The Slayers never could have stopped that Apocalypse if you hadn't helped unleash their powers during the battle against the First Evil."

Spike leaned back on the bed. "Oh," was all he could muster.

It didn't matter that Angel had signed his rights to the prophecy away. It was always going to be Spike. The sooner Angel accepted that the better it would be for both of them. "Look, we both know I wanted this but you got it. No matter how hard it is this is a gift. And you deserved it. The Slayer Army, which has changed the tide in the war against evil, only exists because of you. It's time to sit back and let them do what they do best. Enjoy your life."

"Because that's what you're doing?" Spike shot back.

What the Hell was Spike talking about? Angel wasn't human. His situation was completely different. "It's not the same."

"You really gonna tell me you think you make a lick of difference compared to the Slayer Army? Come on, you know you're doing nothing. What, do you solve one case a week? They take down dozens of demons every day. Why not sit back and enjoy your unlife too?"

As much as he hated to admit it Spike had a point. Angel wasn't doing much to change things. He wasn't needed anymore. So why did he continue? "I think I finally get why you can't give it up," Angel said.

Spike flashed that all too cocky smirk of his.

Angel leaned back in his chair. Spike was the one lying in a hospital bed because he was too stubborn to know his own limitations. How had Spike turned this around to make Angel sound like the reckless one?

* * *

Over the next few days, Angel continued to check in on Spike, though he rarely stayed more than a few minutes. All that needed to be said had been said. Spike was human now, and suffering greatly from it, but he wasn't the only one. It took seeing Spike again for Angel to realize just how hard the past year had been.

On Saturday night Angel went to the hospital for his nightly visit. Spike, though, was already discharged. Typical. Spike must've known yesterday that he was about to be released and he kept that information to himself. No matter, Spike never could stay gone too long. He'd show up again eventually, probably at the worst time possible. Until then Angel would just make sure to keep his tabs on Spike, make sure Spike stayed out of trouble.

Angel left the hospital and returned home. After they defeated Wolfram & Hart Angel went back to basics. He was working as a detective again out of a small apartment that he also used as his office. He used the main room to meet with clients and only the one-bedroom was saved for his personal space. This time the agency was a one-man operation. It was better that way. There was no one to get in the way and get hurt anymore. Angel had lost too many people in the years fighting Wolfram & Hart.

A number of cases were still sitting on his desk that had been pushed aside during the Spike crisis, none which had been time-sensitive. Angel hadn't touched the files since his reunion with Spike. Maybe it was because his mind was so preoccupied with worry over Spike or maybe Spike's words had really gotten to him. Either way he had procrastinated long enough. It was time to get back to work.

Angel reached his door and was met with a distinct, unwelcome smell. He swung the door open. Sitting behind Angel's desk with his feet propped up was none other than Spike. And to think Angel had thought he was rid of Spike for the time being.

"What are you doing here?" Angel growled, his sympathy toward Spike gone. Spike used up the last of that when he decided to take off without warning. Though did it really qualify as taking off if he was back so soon?

"Nice to see you too," Spike said. He held a cigarette between his fingers and took a long drag then blew it out in a puff of smoke. Great, that smell was going to linger in the carpet fibers for weeks.

Angel stormed across the room and grabbed Spike's legs, pulling them off of the desk. Spike cried out in pain and grabbed his stomach. Right. Spike still hadn't healed completely. Well, then maybe Spike shouldn't be messing around with bigger, stronger creatures.

Angel waited for Spike to catch his breath and recompose himself. "You okay?" Angel asked.

With ragged breath, Spike sat back on the chair. His face was pale and ghostly, like it used to look when he was still undead. For a moment it seemed like Spike had gone back on his word and found a way to make the transformation back to vampire, but no, Spike still smelled human. He was just that sickly.

"Just peachy," Spike said with a wheeze.

Angel sat down on the edge of the desk. "Sorry. I forgot."

Spike waved at the air. "I'm fine." The rotting smell of infection from Spike's stomach wound said otherwise. It was less pungent than before but it still permeated the room. Spike could keep posturing all he wanted, but they both knew he wasn't out of the woods yet.

"What are you doing here?" Angel asked, his voice softer now. Maybe Spike had nowhere else to go? That motel he was staying out may have been a shithole but it still cost a few bucks every night.

"I can't give it up," Spike said. He took a long, deep breath, the kind humans take when they're making a confession. "The fight, that is. The trying to right your wrongs shtick has always been your thing. That's not what I'm doing. But I can't just sit around and wait for old age to kill me. I need to go down swinging."

Angel leaned forward and pressed his hand against Spike's stomach, applying _just_ enough pressure.

"Argh!" Spike screamed "You bloody git! What the f—"

"You can still barely move. How do you think you're gonna hold yourself up in a fight? Spike, you keep this up and you won't last another month. You're lucky you lasted this long in the first place."

Spike caught his breath and leaned back in the chair. "I know. We've both doing what we know we shouldn't."

"We're not the same," Angel said.

"That's usually my tune, you know? I'm not saying we're the same, you twit, I said we're doing the same stupid thing. You're keeping up the good fight even though you're making no difference, just like how I keep picking fights with demons even though it just ends with me getting my arse handed to me."

"So what's your point? You think because I'm a hypocrite that I'm going to let you get yourself killed. Because there is a difference. What I'm doing isn't going to get me _killed_, Spike."

"I'm saying…" Spike took a long dramatic and obnoxious pause, "…let's do this together."

Angel's jaw dropped. "What?" was all he could manage to say.

"I said let's work together, you git. Look, I know we hate each other but it's not like we never worked together before. And it was…well not fun but…fulfilling maybe? You do good work."

"I'm not working with you, Spike."

"You're not working with anyone. Wesley: dead; Fred: dead; the smurf is God knows where and Lorne and Charlie-boy both quit on you. You've got no one from the old days. No one but me."

"Because you're great backup nowadays?"

"I'll heal up…eventually. And when I do you can keep my…less thought out moves—"

"—recklessness—"

"—in check. And you need a team. Or a partner at least. Someone to keep you in check too."

"And that's you?" Angel asked.

"Better than that voice in the back of your head trying to out scream your conscious."

The words felt like a knife to the gut. That's exactly what Angelus felt like. "You got one too?" Angel asked.

Spike nodded. "And here's the kicker: turning human didn't make it go away. The evil inside of us didn't come from some demon: it's always been there. The demon just let it out. I know what you're going through because I'm going through it. I know how to pull you out of the deep end because I'm treading in it too. I can help you Angel, and you can help me. Come on, you had a team before, mate. This is a fair deal for both of us. It's what we both need."

Angel mused it over for a moment. The last thing he ever wanted was to work with Spike again, but Spike wasn't wrong. The world might not need them but they needed the world. And each other. Angel gave the slightest of nods. "Alright," he said. "We're a team."


End file.
